


Hand Sanitizer

by orphan_account



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Referenced, Fluff and Angst, No Romance, President Toby Smith | Tubbo, Somewhat concerning ending, Tubbo apologetitcs until I die, Tubbo's coping mechanism is to just not think about things and honestly same, no romantic relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28523601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Quackity turned over on the couch so that he was facing away from them. Karl considered his next words carefully, reaching back to rub circles in between Quackity’s shoulder blades. “He thought it might be fun to go mess up Shlatt’s grave a little,” he said, then realized that may have been too much, “we had already been drinking, y’know? It started inside, it just kind of... snowballed.”
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs, Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Karl Jacobs & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Kudos: 49





	Hand Sanitizer

Tubbo could never seem to catch a break. As president of a growing country, there was always something to fuss over, whether it be internal affairs, relations with L’manburg’s neighbors, property disputes, or any of the other dozens of things to be solved every day. His cabinet helped, of course, but they didn’t stop his mind from running at top speed nearly 24/7.

In a way, it’s almost a blessing. It’s easier for him to tune himself out- to pack Tubbo, the person, away, and bring fourth the President. The President didn’t have time to mourn lost friends, or hurt for himself, or to waver. The President got things done, and that was it.

Of course, there were also downsides. For example, now. Tubbo had just gotten in the perfect position in his presidential quarters, the cool side of the pillow pressing into his cheek and his leg positioned just so on top of the blanket that he wouldn’t get too hot during the night. Rain pitter-pattered against his windows, providing him with something to focus on as he rested.

He was on the very edge of consciousness when three loud raps reverberated through his house. He grit his teeth, took a deep breath in, and sat up. He sighed as he tossed back the comforter and unhooked a coat from his desk chair beside the bed.

As he strode through the house, three more insistent knocks echoed from the front door.

“Coming,” Tubbo shouted through the door, with a twinge of annoyance. Twisting the doorknob, he came face-to-face with Karl, who looked desperate and tired, and Quackity, who clung to his side, blinking hazily. The familiar smell of hand sanitizer and something totally unique came off of the pair in waves.

Karl swallowed thickly, “hey,” he tried, his rain-streaked cheeks red.

Tubbo considered his situation, his eyebrows pinching together. He could tell them to leave, that the President had more important matters to attend to, that the VP needed to handle himself and not disturb him. In all reality, he should turn them away.

In the end, he stepped out of the way, motioning for them both to come inside.

That’s how Tubbo ended up with two people slumped on his couch as he filled two glasses with water. Karl spouted apology after apology, explaining that Ranboo was supposed to ‘babysit’ them that night because Quackity had wanted to drink more than usual that night, but that rain had began coming down so hard so quickly, and before they knew it Ranboo had disappeared, unable to withstand the water, leaving them both stranded and inebriated.

Tubbo listened to the explanation, eyeing Quackity all the while. Unlike the jovial friend he was familiar with, this man was subdued, quiet. He was hunched over on the couch, elbows on his knees, chiming in only occasionally to provide necessary context, or to curse Ranboo for abandoning them. When Tubbo gently placed a glass of water in his hand, Quackity had paused, sluggishly blinking up at the young president’s face. Tubbo stood there for a moment, puzzled, as an uncharacteristically tender emotion flashed across Quackity’s features.

Tubbo turned to Karl, handing him the other glass, which he took gratefully.

“Drinking, huh?” Tubbo scoffed, heading back to the kitchen, “what’s the occasion?”

Karl shrugged, pausing as he brought the water to his lips, “nothing in particular, just wanted to.”

Tubbo searched under the sink for trash bags, then rifled through his cabinets for suitable vomit receptacles. He hummed to himself, “why were you outside in the first place? Public intoxication is a crime, you know.”

Quackity turned over on the couch so that he was facing away from them. Karl considered his next words carefully, reaching back to rub circles in between Quackity’s shoulder blades. “He thought it might be fun to go mess up Shlatt’s grave a little,” he said, then realized that may have been too much, “we had already been drinking, y’know? It started inside, it just kind of... snowballed.”

Tubbo grimaced. The smell permeating his living room practically screamed Shlatt to him. The repugnant scent burned his nostrils and brought back memories of sweeping up glass shards in the old office. The old man never seemed to get his fill of alcohol, leaving Tubbo and Quackity to try and make sure things got done around Manburg without his help. Oddly enough, even in his final days when his health had deteriorated, Shlatt never seemed to throw up, as if the toxic brew inside his body was perfectly content and at home inside his gut. Tubbo considered this as he placed a bucket beside Quackity’s feet, and a small wastebasket beside Karl’s.

“Please, if you’re gonna puke, do it in the buckets,” Tubbo said, standing straight and tall in front of the two. Karl nodded, and Quackity gave a grunt of acknowledgement. Tubbo motioned sympathetically at Quackity, tilting his head in his direction.

“How much did he have?” Tubbo asked.

“I wasn’t really keeping track,” Karl stated sheepishly, “more than me, I guess. We didn’t really care, since Ranboo was supposed to be watching us.”

With a sigh, Tubbo dropped down onto the loveseat opposite them, his body sagging with tiredness. He knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight though, now that he was up there was no way he was going to be able to.

“Sorry,” Karl murmured.

“It’s fine,” Tubbo replied, and the room fell into silence.

Tubbo didn’t know how long had passed, staring at nothing as he reclined on the loveseat. Karl’s soft snores drifted towards the ceiling, and the rain outside felt like static against his ears. He had made sure Karl’s head was laid to the side to prevent any choking and laid out morning meds and another glass for both of them. Laying like this, with something more trivial to focus on, he could imagine there was nothing to worry about. No wars, no exiling, no lost friends, just Tubbo and two drunk friends trying to get through the night on his couches.

The sound of rustling fabric poked through his awareness, and he sat up slightly to tend to the source. Quackity was on his side, looking at Tubbo hazily.

“You alright, Big Q?” Tubbo said, ready to tend to him in case he needed water, or a bucket.

“Mmm,” Quackity hummed, his voice rough, “I’m just thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Tubbo huffed a half-laugh.

“Yeah,” Quackity murmured, “just thinking.”

“What’re you thinking about?” Tubbo asked.

He sat up slowly, looking dizzy. Tubbo rushed to grab his bucket and placed it in Quackity’s hands.

When silence followed, Tubbo’s eyebrows furrowed, “in case you need it,” he said.

Barely registering that he was now holding something, Quackity stared openly at Tubbo.

“I’m thinking that this- this shit,” he started, words falling out of him like the clumsy steps of a drunkard hobbling out of a bar, “it shouldn’t be yours... to deal with.”

“Huh?” Tubbo asked, his eyebrows knitting, “what do you mean?”

Quackity’s own brows knit in return, frustrated at himself, as he glanced down to his hands, “this, like, all of this... stuff, the country, the election, Shlatt, all that shit with Dream and Tommy and Techno- I, I know you don’t wanna say it but that shit isn’t something you should have to deal with.”

“Big Q,” The president put on his best reassuring smile, “I can handle it, I’m the pres-”

Quackity’s head whipped up, a kind of desperation Tubbo had never seen before written across his face. It stunned him into silence.

“You’re a kid, Tubbo.” he said, then shut his eyes with a grimace, hanging his head, “these decisions, these… _fights,_ shouldn’t be yours. You should be running around, building, playing, not...” he trailed off, hoping Tubbo would understand what he meant, “you shouldn’t know so much about how to take care of us like this,” his bangs fell in front of his eyes, “everyone’s so soaked up in their own bullshit that they haven’t even considered that there’s a kid dealing with it all, too.”

Tubbo didn’t respond, and Quackity felt his stomach roil, a chilling guilt clawing at his back, “I should’ve, should’ve been-” suddenly, his shoulders hunched, his face paling, as he gripped the bucket closer to his chest. Tubbo recoiled in disgust as he wretched into the bucket, his abdomen squeezing as his body violently rejected the alcohol.

Tubbo looked away and reached out, softly patting him on the shoulder as he was hit with another wave of nausea, ejecting the rest of his dinner into the bucket. Tubbo grabbed the glass of water from beside Quackity, keeping it at the ready.

For a few seconds, Quackity simply coughed, feeling about thirty pounds lighter and twice as grimy as before. He took the glass and swished a mouthful of water to cleanse the taste from his mouth, before setting the bucket back down on the floor. He laid back on the couch drearily, dizziness coming at him in waves. For a moment, Tubbo was gone with the bucket, and in the next the bucket was back beside him.

Quackity murkily sensed Tubbo beside him, felt eyes on him. He glanced back up at Tubbo through his eye-lashes, his energy very nearly gone. There was a heaviness to the president that didn’t belong in such a young person. He hated it. He couldn’t do anything about it.

“We’ll complete the hit-list,” Quackity vowed quietly, “then you won’t have to worry about so much,” his eyes shut involuntarily, “no more wars, no more exiles- we could even bring Tommy back. It would be everyone just living together.” He clasped his hands together in front of his chest, a faintly determined smile creeping across his face, “one big happy family.”

“Sure,” Tubbo said, slightly endeared, “have a good sleep, I’ll make sure you don’t choke or anything,” he paused, “and… I hope you’re right. Not having to fight anymore would be for the best.”

Satisfied, Quackity gave up the fight with himself and fell asleep.

Tubbo laid down on the loveseat again, breathing out a sigh. Sitting in the dark, in his pajamas, he let himself believe for just one night that he wasn’t the president.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I wish there were more fics focusing on the Shlatt Administration duo, so I wrote one!
> 
> I think Quackity's character is one of the most intriguing ones on the SMP. He seeks power, but not in the same way Shlatt did. He genuinely believes that killing the existing "threats" to L'manburg will solve all of their problems and make the lives of the people of his country better, and in a sense, he's right. Tubbo can't be pressured by Dream to keep Tommy in exile if Dream is dead, and Techno has demonstrated a capability and a will to cause damage to L'manburg in the past. Quackity does love his country, and despite knowing that he's a weak fighter, he'll stop at nothing to defend it. Quackity, in that way, is L'manburg's army.
> 
> However, he's wrong as well. Techno stated clearly that he wasn't going to attack L'manburg, and Quackity pushed forward anyways with the execution. Dream is a horrifically oppressive force, and fighting him would only lead to L'manburg being further damaged and the death of many of his friends.
> 
> Quackity wants harmony and peace, but believes the only way he can achieve that is through war. He's wrong, but he's right.


End file.
